Refugee
by Aeryx
Summary: "General... Real sorry about this, but orders are orders." The story of a Jedi's struggle to survive after Order 66.
1. 001

_ General... Real sorry about this, but orders are orders._

Those words hurt more than the blaster bolt that found its mark, slicing into her arm, and blackening flesh. Zimi Tabier felt nothing from her troops. No malice, no anger... Just a frightening sense of duty. And then she was enveloped in a world of agony.

The Jedi Knight sat in a puddle of muddy rainwater, slumped against the alley wall behind a hangar bay. With her brown hood drawn up tight and her wounded arm cradled against her stomach, she was nearly invisible in the darkness. While she hid, she found herself wishing for the strangest things. Sunlight was first on her list. Throughout the whole reconnaissance mission she had not seen a single sliver of the blessed stuff. The Jabiimi sky was eternally clouded over and weeping great drops of torrential rain.

She pulled her filthy woven cloak tighter, reaching her good hand in at the same time to brush her fingertips over her saber hilt. A nominal comfort, but it allowed her stop the tears threatening to join the rain running down her face.

Those clones were the closest friends Zimi ever had. She knew it and she knew they felt the same way. Or at least, _had _felt the same way. There was no rivalry there, like back at the Jedi Academy. They were all just good friends.

Sitting in that puddle, Zimi brooded, struggling to off depression. Her dark thoughts made her chest tighten and she fought to swallow them, but the anger made her body tense up and she grit her teeth. Sunlight wasn't her foremost wish anymore.

Now she wanted revenge. Revenge for her pain. Her fists clenched as the rage warmed her from the inside out. But, just as she was about to give in and blow away the nearest dumpster, a door she didn't know was there swung open and cracked into her left knee.

She squealed in pain, her anger forgotten and flung both her arms around the smarting limb to hug it close and rock back and forth. To add to her agony, a bright light radiated from the door, blinding her.

Zimi expressed her suffering by snarling several nasty curses, courtesy of her commandos. When the woman opened her eyes, a female Twi'lek stood over her, partially blocking out the rain. In one slender hand, she held an umbrella rod and when she saw Zimi was conscious, she shuffled closer, including her beneath it.

Her eyes moved across her sodden form, taking in the robes, and the cream tunic underneath. Hallmarks of her Order.

"Jedi?" The woman ventured, her voice somewhere between bemusement and amusement. Zimi mentally cursed her for her insolence. "They've been saying something about a Jedi Rebellion. I guess you didn't get the memo."

Two things struck Zimi about the Twi'lek. First, her blatant unconcern for her condition. Second, 'Jedi Rebellion'. _What?_

"Jedi Rebellion?" She croaked. "No, I didn't... get the memo."

A moment of silence passed between the two beings, punctuated by the rain and the hum of a passing speeder. She could sense the Twi'lek's unease, but before the woman could move away, Zimi released her leg and braced herself against the wall to stand. "I really am a Jedi. Really." She insisted in face of her disbelief, before her voice became tentative. "Can... Can you help me?

The Twi'lek's amusement drained away and her eyes left Zimi to scan the alleyway. The Jedi sensed her discomfort and an undercurrent of fear. Then, weirdly, Zimi noticed just how startlingly_ green_ the female was. _C'mon, Zimi, focus._

"No sane being would make that claim if they weren't serious." She said, her tone low. "I..." The Twi'lek's conflict was apparent on both her face and in the way her lekku twitched. Then, she seemed to come to a decision and gestured to the door. "I have a few extra clothes."

Relief and gratitude flooded Zimi's body and she limped after the woman, through the door into what appeared to be the back hallway of the space port's administrative offices. They went down the gray-walled corridor, stopping an office door at the very end. A metal plate at eye level bore the name "Kiraba Jin - Administrator". The sight made Zimi take inventory of how many credits she had on her person. Kiraba was risking a lot for Zimi's sorry ass.

"Please don't remember my name." Kiraba whispered as she unlocked the door. "I will give you the clothes, and then I want you to leave..." The Twi'lek paused, her slender fingers still on the door's keypad. "Leave the planet. There is a passenger ship leaving for Taris soon."

She seemed satisfied by this, though her painted on eyebrows still drew together in displeasure. Fingers dancing across the keypad, she hit a green button and the door hissed open and they both stepped inside. The office was lit by bright lumen strip on the ceiling and contained a sturdy metal desk in the center, circled three chairs. Two for guests, and a large comfortable throne for Kiraba.

Left standing by the door, Zimi tried not to drip on the carpet while the green Twi'lek moved behind her desk, face pensive. A bookcase and a locker stood beyond the chair and she pulled open the to reveal what seemed like an entire wardrobe. A few extra clothes? Hah.

"Take off that robe." She ordered, hands busy going flicking through hangars and clothing. "I'll get rid of it. Just drape it over the chair."

Zimi was quick to comply, though she was loathe to leave the dirty thing where it would make a mess. In her just her tunic now, she shivered, the wet cloth flush against her skin. She went to push her hair out of her face, but the wet stuff clung to her skin like fat black ropes and shifting only dripped more water onto the floor.

Cursing, she stilled again, until Kiraba demanded the removal of more clothing. Undoing her belt she draped it overtop her old robe. The thing was wet and heavy with the last few things she had to her name. Her saber, her datapad, a few credit chips... The sight of the battered thing made Zimi sink a few notches further into despair, but she pushed it away, focusing on unwinding her tunic.

It was a few minutes before Zimi felt compelled to break the silence. "Thank you. I won't forget this." She was surprised to hear her own voice. Her voice that had been conditioned to yell orders over the roar of blaster fire and explosions, came out now sounding dismal and whispery.

Kiraba was in the process of holding a red tunic-like shirt up to Zimi, before shaking her head and putting it back. Kiraba, like most female Twi'leks, was beautiful and slender. Zimi, on the other hand, was broad shouldered, and taller, with solid muscle definition from her constant training. The Twi'lek paused when Zimi spoke and then shook her head again, her lekku swinging from side to side.

"I'd prefer it if you did. Forget it, I mean. I'll get in trouble for helping a Jedi." She pulled out another tunic, a looser, blue one, and satisfied, dropped it on the desk. "A Jedi saved my mate's life. During the last battle here. I feel like I should pass the good deed on."

Zimi knew when to let things go. Many things were at stake here now, and Kiraba was risking near everything. "We never met then. I stole the garments and stowed away on one of the ships."

This was met with a genuine, if small, smile. "A fine story. I'm glad to have never met a Jedi."

The nervousness Zimi felt coming from Kiraba lessened and she found herself loosening up too. The Twi'lek sauntered back around the desk and handed over a blue tunic, loose brown pants made of some strong fabric, and a jacket of lighter greenish-blue. Fashionable and something she was _not_ used to, and she looked doubtful, but when Kiraba pointed the Jedi to the adjoining bathroom, she scolded herself for looking down such good fortune.

Once inside the bathroom, she began stripping off her under tunic, only to struggle with her arm. Without her overtunic and the robe, she could see the extent of the damage. The flesh was blackened, and it stank, the wound on the verge of festering. It was only by luck that it hadn't gone necrotic already.

With one arm, the undertunic was more or less ripped off and tossed into the shower stall. Her undergarments were still wet, but asking for something of Kiraba's was out of the question. The clothes just barely fit but weren't uncomfortable. The jacket, however, was tight around the shoulders.

Zimi just draped that over her good arm before fastening her belt back around her waist. It was a good look for her, she realized. The tunic showed off her shoulders and chest, in a way that she could appreciate. When she opened the door, Kiraba made an appreciative noise before holding up a brush and a hair tie. Why the hairless female had hair products was beyond the Jedi, but she said nothing.

"You're going to have to hide your saber." Kiraba said as Zimi worked distangling her dark hair. "And... Your arm. Frak... I have a med kit here in the bathroom." The Twi'lek disappeared into the bathroom and Zimi was quick to find the credit chips in her belt pouch. She put them on the desk and was back at the mirror when Kiraba emerged holding a small white box.

The next few minutes had Zimi being doctored by the green Twi'lek. The cloying smell of bacta permeated the room, but it was sweet relief to the Jedi, her skin soaking up the ointment, and the flesh knitting together almost before her eyes. As soon as the bandage was wound tight around her arm, Kiraba looked at the time.

"The ship for Taris is leaving soon." Kiraba's fake eyebrows were drawn together again. "You need to go. I'll take care of your clothes."

Zimi took a deep breath. "Thank you. So much." She hoped Kiraba would discover the credit chips sooner rather than later. Saying nothing more, she stood and started for the door, only to be stopped by a taint of worry in Kiraba's direction. Looking back, she saw the Twi'lek fidgeting with the hairbrush.

"Be careful..." Kiraba paused, looking sheepish. "Uh, I never got your name." Zimi was about to oblige her before she waved a hand, stopping her. "No, sorry. Don't tell me. Make sure you change the bandages for those wounds and... Just... Be careful, okay, kid? You're so young." There was a look of pity. And regret.

The Jedi shook her head. Pity was not something she wanted. "Don't worry about me. Forget you ever met me." Zimi wished she was skilled enough in the Force to perform some sort of mind wipe. Impolite, but appropriate in this case. It might keep her savior safe.

The woman followed Zimi to the door, and it slid open at a touch.

She wanted to fold her hands into her sleeves, but the clothes didn't allow it. And even if they did, it would look ridiculous without a proper Jedi robe. Instead. Zimi just offered a bow. "Thank you. May the Force be with you."

All at once, Kiraba looked sad, anxious, and scared, her eyes leaving Zimi's face to glance up and down the hallway. "And you as well. Go now."

Zimi lingered for just a second before turning and striding down the hall to the hangar bay. She could only hope now that Kiraba didn't go and report her. Mentally, she hated herself for that, but she had to be honest. Trust, something that came so easily before, was in short supply for Zimi.


	2. 002

**2**

The ship was a monstrous affair. It looked like it had barely cleared the hangar bay walls on either side - the work of either a very stupid or very skilled pilot. Maybe both. It was rectangular, bulky, and a dark gray color that made the eye slide off the hull to more interesting things. Like the large crowd of passengers awaiting the boarding call.

Before leaving the offices of the hangar administrator, Zimi worked to find a hiding place for her saber. The hilt was too long to put in a pant pocket. There was always a glint of steely gray that peeked from under the pocket flap. Her jacket was out of the question entirely. Too tight. Her only option was to drop it down her shirt. She dropped it down the front and then maneuvered it to rest at the small of her back, on top of her belt. Then she put on the jacket. The bulge looked like it could be attributed to her belt pouches or an unsightly deformity.

Despite Zimi's confidence in the hiding spot, the second she stepped out under the hangar bay lights and started toward the ship, she felt like there was a blinking sign above her head that screamed "Jedi!". She had to fight the urge to pull the jacket hood up and skirt along the edges of the crowd. That would look even more suspicious.

It was a good choice, she figured, since nobody was jumping up and screaming "Fugitive!" or something to that ilk. In fact, people were too absorbed with their own affairs, and for that Zimi was grateful.

The boarding call came just as Zimi reached the edge of the crowd and it was at that moment, she realized she had no credits for passage. A cold sweat broke out between her shoulder blades and she backpedaled to stand cluelessly at the end of the forming line of passengers. She had no idea what to do. For her entire life, either the Order or the GAR had taken care of her travel. Or she'd travel with her master in a personal ship. She'd never ridden in a civilian ship before.

She considered the cargo area, but dismissed that. It might depressurize when they left orbit. There was only one obvious option to Zimi. She'd have to smuggle herself onto the passenger deck. They didn't look like they were taking tickets at the ramp, maybe if she got on and then hid...

A human pilot stood at the top of the ramp. He looked severe, but strangely jaded, especially for a younger man. To the Jedi, this seemed to be a bad combination. He wouldn't take kindly to a stowaway. She bit her lip.

It had to be done. Her palms sweating, she ran to catch up with the end of the line and crammed herself in behind a Rodian. The thick musk of the alien made Zimi want to gag, but she steeled herself to march past the hard eyes of the pilot. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and he held her gaze, as if daring her to go ahead and try it. Just try stowing away.

As if he knew her intentions.

Frack, that was scary. She looked away, both unnerved and ashamed. For goodness' sake, she was a Jedi Knight! She could probably wield a weapon with more skill than anyone aboard this cruiser - there was no reason she should be afraid. Except that she could be reported, captured, and then put to death at the hands of her own commandos.

She glanced back at the pilot to assert herself, but he was looking away, across the hangar. Now, _he_ seemed nervous and she followed his gaze. Any bravado she might have possessed for those scant seconds evaporated. Marching towards the ship were four people. Four armor-clad people Zimi could recognize anywhere from their gaits, from the way they held themselves, and for their vibes in the Force. The Jedi's heart near skipped a beat, and she felt herself grow tense. If this was it, then it was it. She shifted so that the saber was resting on her right hip, and put her hand over it, readying herself to go out in a blaze of glory. Zimi was a fighter and she wouldn't die without taking the commandos with her.

But the commandos didn't see her. They didn't call out and level their DC-17s at her to take her out with a quick blast to the head. Instead, the leader, her friend, Sergeant Tinner, waved to the pilot and the man walked slowly down the ramp to meet them.

At the same moment, the line moved and Zimi was presented with a choice. Either she could die there in that hangar bay on some Outer Rim world, or escape to find out why she her life was forfeit in the first place. The choice wasn't that hard. She stepped into the dim light of the ship's airlock and out of sight of the meeting. Beyond the lock and to the left was the passenger deck where the travelers were filing into their cabins. Down an empty corridor off to the right was employee's only and with a frantic glance behind her, she slipped away from the line and down the empty corridor.

Zimi found the door third from the end open and flung herself into it. As she hid behind a set of shelves, she tried to regulate her breathing. The sound of air rushing in and out of her mouth was loud. Looking around, Zimi found it was a storeroom, dark except for the light filtering in through the open door. Crouching down in the darkness, Zimi peeked through a line of bottles full of colored liquids. She could hear voices coming down the hallway.

"... Down this way is food storage, the kitchen, and access to the cockpit and maintenance. Guests aren't allowed down this way." It was the pilot and when Zimi focused on his presence, she detected a desperate trill of nervousness.

There was the sound of booted footsteps in the wake of the voice, and, alarmed, Zimi scooted back against the wall, her wet palms slipping on the metal floor.

"We understand that." That was Tinner. Zimi's stomach started to twist itself into a knot. There was a pause and the approaching footsteps stopped. The nervousness was coming off the pilot in waves and it didn't help Zimi's condition. She attempted clearing her mind, but it didn't help.

"We understand that." Tinner repeated. "But the Jedi isn't on the passenger deck. We've orders to search every outgoing ship and if you just cooperate, you'll be out of here on schedule."

Zimi could tell from the how Tinner's voice was tight with the barest hint of sarcasm that Tinner suspected something of the pilot. It momentarily surprised her that she could extract that information just from the nuances of Tinner's tone before she set to wondering just what Tinner suspected. The footsteps sounded again, stopped, and then there was the beeping of a keypad being used. A door slid open and Zimi presumed that the pilot was leading Tinner through each room for inspection. It wouldn't be long before they came to her room and from what Zimi could tell in the darkness, there was no way out. She couldn't risk leaving the room. The rest of the commandos could be out in the hallway. Getting to her feet, Zimi started toward the back of the room, but she didn't get very far. In the darkness, Zimi didn't see a short stack of heavy cases and caught her foot on the top one. Her reflexes made her reach out the catch the wobbling stack before it crashed to the ground, and in the process, she sacrificed her balance. She landed on her bruised knee and the pain lanced up her thigh, making her other knee buckle. She curled up around the hurt knee, stifling her groans of pain.

A few seconds later, a door hissed open, and she heard footsteps again. She had to move. Sweating with agony, she pulled herself up onto all fours, favoring her good knee and found herself facing a hole in the wall. It was a small square gap positioned near the floor, and when Zimi looked around herself, she found the floor littered with the small metal cases. Sticking her head inside the gap, she saw it opened into to a narrow crawl space that extended out to either side behind the wall. It didn't take much for her to put it all together. _The pilot's a smuggler_... She picked up one of the cases and unlatched it. He was transporting disruptor pistols. Very illegal. Zimi almost laughed. She couldn't believe her luck! She had just found both leverage _and_ a hiding place.

The footsteps stopped again and another door hissed open. Zimi began working quickly and what she hoped was quietly. The pilot had been stashing the cases already, so Zimi's work was almost done. She began to slide the rest of the goods back behind the wall and when she had finished, she looked around for any stray cases before crawling into the compartment herself. The space was so narrow that the only way she could fit in, she discovered, was by scooting backwards into it and, when her back hit the wall, standing up. The footsteps were drawing closer now and she executed the maneuver. As soon as she was inside, she reached out through the Force, and yanked the hatch closed. It snapped shut.

Now she was sandwiched between two metal walls, in the dark, with no room to maneuver. Her quick breaths bounced off the wall back into her face and she fought off a wave of claustrophobia. Her stomach began to clench, she was sweating harder, and she had to resist the urge to begin banging on the front wall. Not that she could. There wasn't enough room for her to bend her elbows. Oh, she probably couldn't even get out now that she was standing, the door was too low. She was going to die in here. She was going to die. The air was getting so warm.

She heard steps outside her hiding place just as her head started swimming. She heard Tinner's voice, and then the pilot's, but she didn't know what they were saying. It was muffled through the thick, heavy... impenetrable... metal wall... She had to force herself not to scream 'Let me out! Please, please, _please_ let me out!'

Her body began to shake and strangely enough, with the trembling came shame. If Zimi's master could see her, the woman would be ashamed.

"Don't panic." She had said in her harsh voice. "You'll make some pretty stupid fraking mistakes."

And now, Zimi was panicking. The voices and steps were drawing closer, and Zimi was set to fling her body at the wall to get their attention. At least she'd die with a breath of fresh air... Wait. Did she get this far just to die?

The air was warm and had the tang of salt from her sweat. She drew in a deep breath of it, though there was hardly any oxygen left in it and held it before letting it out slowly. Zimi had never been a patient Jedi. Meditation was something she had just waved off in favor of learning saber techniques and dueling. Her master, however, refused to let Zimi go a day without meditation. The habit didn't stick, but Zimi knew how. She just had to let go and she knew what that felt like.

With each breath, her mind expanded away from the trembling mess that was her oxygen-deprived body and she felt herself calm down. Her heart rate dropped, her breathing slowed, and within a few seconds, she blacked out.


	3. Blackout

_"That style doesn't suit you."_

_Running her sleeve across her forehead, Zimi wiped the sweat out of her eyes before deactivating her saber. She'd known Tinner was there, but didn't think he had been observing. He was supposed to be on watch. She straightened and looked at the sergeant. He took off his helmet and set it on the bench beside him. _

_"What do you mean?" She asked, perplexed and a little irked. What did he even know about lightsaber styles? Mentally, she scolded herself._ Don't get cocky.

_Tinner let out a quiet chuckle, before pointing to her saber. "I'm not a Jedi, but I know fighting. All those wide swings and power attacks?" He demonstrated with movements of his gauntleted hands. "You look like you're going for brute strength, but you're not strong enough to do that."_

_After contemplating this, she had to admit, she was having trouble with Djem So. She had been practicing hard for the last two hours, and she wasn't making progress. She was only making her muscles ache and getting her tunic muddy. _

_She frowned at Tinner and he shrugged._

_"If you want my advice-"_

_Zimi narrowed her eyes at him. "I didn't ask." She said. She made sure to adjust her tone to indicate no hostility, and even grinned, which was not a normal expression. She was still mentally chiding herself. She needed to learn to take criticism._

_He ignored her and went plowing on. "For practicality's sake, stick with speed. Now that you're with us, I'd prefer a Jedi with competence instead of style."_

_Zimi looked at him and he held her gaze. On one hand, practicing the seven combat styles was her favorite pastime. On the other hand, Tinner had a right to expect competence from her. This was _his_ team even if she was the higher ranking officer. She looked away to express her consent. She drew her dark, sweaty hair back and tied it at the back of her head. It was hard cooling down, with the humidity of the air holding in the day's heat, but modesty stopped her removing her overtunic._

_"I have to add, though." She said after a few minutes of twirling her deactivated saber. "It might only look unfitting because I don't have an opponent."_

_Tinner chuckled again, something Zimi wasn't used to hearing from a member of the GAR._

_"I'd offer, but I don't want to get in your way. That style might not suit you, but I've seen how much damage you can do. You like to fight, don't you?"_

_Zimi nearly beamed, but kept her expressions under control. That was pretty high praise coming from a born and bred soldier. "My master told me my love for battle wasn't the way of the Jedi." _

_"That's the difference between a warrior and a soldier. You'd make a good Mandalorian."_

_Zimi looked at Tinner in surprise. "I'd rather not. I've found Mandalorians to be too passionate about... Well, everything." She glanced at Tinner, knowing the commando's loyalty to the Mandalorian culture, but he showed no sign of offense. He just nodded. It was better if she stayed on Tinner's good side. All the commandos' good sides. She was assigned to spend the next few months in their company. _

_"I'd rather follow Master Cin Drallig's path." She continued. "He wasn't my master, but he was my favorite teacher. He promised to teach me Jar'Kai when I'm back on Triple Zero. Double saber combat."_

_Tinner's eyebrows went up. "Here's to hoping you don't cut yourself to pieces. Me? I prefer my Deece. It won't kill me if I swing it wrong. Not that it's meant for swinging."_

_This time, Zimi let herself chuckle. "What if you run out of ammo? Or you lose it?"_

_Tinner shrugged. "We've always got a plan B."_

_"Which would be?"_

_"Nothing specific. It's adaptable."_

_She fell silent for a few seconds while looking around the shelter. It was the shabby remnants of a building on the muddy outskirts of Shelter Base, the old command center. They were in danger of getting flooded at the moment. Water was lapping on the threshold and the three other commandos, Fil, Ping, and Zero, were catching a few hours of sleep on a large table pushed up against a wall. As Ping had put it, 'Don't wanna wake up feeling like I've pissed my pants. Let us know if we start to float away'._

_"I'll teach you."_

_Tinner raised one eyebrow. "Teach me what?"_

_"How to use a saber. Then, I can practice with someone, and you'll have another reliable way to meet enemies."_

_The sergeant had a thoughtful look on his face. "Teach it to all of us. That way, if the Jedi rebel-" He grinned to show he was joking. "We've got something on you guys."_

_Zimi doubted that would ever happen in a galactic millennia and started to root through the junk in the corners of the shelter. Pulling out two rusty metal rods of about the same length, she tossed one to Tinner and held the other in the ready position._

_"Stand across from me. We'll start with Form I."_


	4. 003

**3**

At the same time that Zimi drew in a breath of air, her eyes snapped open. Then she sobbed in pain. Her throat ached, her neck felt swollen, and she couldn't feel her extremities. The rest of her body felt cold and leaden. And she couldn't move.

She knew she wasn't dead at least. Everything hurt too damn much. Her wounded arm especially. It was throbbing and the only part of her that didn't feel dead cold.

"Deep breaths." A voice said. "You're hyperventilating. You'll black..."

Zimi didn't hear the rest. A few seconds later - at least what she thought was a few seconds - she felt a rough hand patting her cheek. "Wake up."

She opened her eyes again and this time, her brain could register what her eyes were seeing. White lights shined directly into her eyes, hurting them, but when she tried to turn her head away, her neck would not cooperate. She was lying on something cold and hard. Probably the floor. She sensed a presence to her left and a wall to her right.

"Damn." The voice said. Blinking, she tried to look and see who it belonged too. Her brain took a little while to register who was crouching next to her.

It was the pilot.

Strangely, her first thought was 'He's going to ask for my ticket.' Then she voiced her thoughts aloud. "I don't have a ticket." Her voice came out as a pitiful croak.

Zimi's vision had been clearing slowly, and now, beyond the pilot she could see lines of bottles and then a closed door. Scattered around her were the same black cases she had packed away. She was still in the store room.

The young man looked surprised. "You think I'm that much of a barve to ask a half-dead woman for a ticket? No, no, no... I want an explanation."

His voice was steely but when Zimi tried to sit up, he helped her to lean against the wall before crouching back down near an open medkit. Resting her head back, Zimi composed herself.

"Tell me first." She said, after a pause. "Where are we?"

"Hyperspace. En route to Taris."

The cool feeling of relief began to trickle into her stomach, but she stopped it until he answered her next question.

"And the commandos?"

The pilot stared hard at her before answering. "They didn't find anything, so they left."

Now, she let the floodgates open and she sagged in relief. "Thank the Force."

Zimi closed her eyes and there was a restful halt in the conversation. She didn't want to think about her future now. She was alive and in the moment. She heard the pilot start to pack up the medkit.

"I don't think I need very much explanation actually." He said, making her open her eyes. "You're the Jedi they were looking for. That's obvious enough. What I want to know is how you survived an hour in an airtight smuggling compartment. Don't answer me with 'Jedi stuff. You wouldn't understand.'"

The information startled Zimi. Breath control was something she had never gotten the hang of. She frowned. Looking up at the pilot, she saw he had an expectant look on his face. Like he expected to be disappointed, though there was a twinkle of interest in his eyes.

"I..." She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were blue, she realized with some horror. "It was a fluke. I blacked out." She confessed.

The interest faded as his expectations were met. Pressing his lips into a grim line, he stood and then held out his hand. She shook her head at the assistance and forced herself onto her feet, ignoring the dizziness. She was strong. She wouldn't let herself be shamed anymore today.

The man started to pack the cases back into the crawl space. She supposed they had been displaced when he had pulled her out.

"Some of these cases are damaged." He grunted as he worked. "How are you going to pay me back? And how are you going to pay your fare?"

Working as a Jedi might've isolated Zimi from the use of public transportation, but it didn't prevent her interaction with all sorts of beings. The pilot's request was clear. So was his character. Money grubbing _di'kut_.

Zimi knew better than to be offended, but her sense of justice didn't. She grimaced at the man, but his look didn't change. Charity was not a quality he had.

"I can give you my datapad." She suggested her voice equally steely. She pulled it out and held it up. It was old, dented, and grimy. He gave it one look and his expression made her put it away.

He finished packing the boxes in and then kicked the hatch shut. Where the door was supposed to be was just a blank wall now and he started to drag a shelf in front of it.

When he was done, he considered her. "Well, I owe you one for packing the cases away." The pilot said, wiping his hands on his pants. "We both would've been caught otherwise." A grudging look came into his green eyes. "I guess I can waive your fare for that." He glanced back at where the hatch was. "But the goods are expensive. My client won't accept dented hardware."

She frowned down at herself. She had nothing else she could sell unless he wanted her saber. She brought that out next and his interest was piqued.

"Hey... now that's a nice piece of equipment." He said, coming to look at it. He stood at least a foot taller than her and blocked out the ceiling light. She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened around the saber hilt.

Now, Jedi weren't supposed to form attachments. Zimi had been indoctrinated with that concept since she was a youngling. But, Zimi's saber was her life. She had spent a whole month constructing it, selecting the crystals, customizing the steel-gray hilt... She was intensely proud of it.

Swallowing, she took it out of the man's gaze and the pilot gave her a confused look. "Hey, those things can sell for a lot on the black market. That would more than cover the cost-"

"Look." Zimi said. She was tired, half-dead, and she wanted to just lay her head down and sleep for the next week. And now, she was getting angry. She stopped and took a deep breath. Her voice was calmer when she spoke again. "I have nothing to offer you."

The pilot's face became hard. "If I don't deliver pristine goods to my client, then it's my neck on the line. I don't want to die because some Jedi stowed away on my ship and dumped her problems in my lap."

Zimi resented that. Her muscles tensed up and she had to batter down her rising anger again.

"There's a bounty for Jedi now." He continued. "Ever since your rebellion, or whatever happened on Coruscant." Again with that rebellion. What was he talking about? "Either you find a way to pay me back or I'm turning you in the second we touch down."

It might've been fear. It might've been the anger she was fighting. It might've been her exhaustion. Either way, she wasn't in control of her body anymore. She cuffed him in the jaw with blinding speed, making him stumble back and then grabbed his wrist. Cruelly twisting it, she made him turn his back to her and brought him down to his knees. "Don't threaten me." She snarled. "I've gotten this far to stay alive and I won't let you stop me from getting further." The release of anger and the feeling of power made her feel good. Before, she had been so powerless, trying to barter with him. Now, though, she could break his arm, kill him-

With a gasp she let him go. His back had been arched over his twisted arm, and when she let him go he let out a groan of pain. "Forgive me." She said, looking down at the back of his head. "I am giving in to my emotions."

Turning, he looked up at her, but not with the expression she was expecting. It wasn't hatred or fear. It was respectful. And disconcertingly contemplative. She gave him an incredulous look.

"I thought Jedi were peace-loving geezers." He chuckled harshly as he pulled himself to his feet. "How about this... You owe me a favor. You stick around with me until I ask for it."

Zimi was too ashamed with herself to dispute it. A favor was good. She'd give him a million favors if it could lessen her disgrace. She didn't look at him, but nodded her agreement. Then she saw a hand out of the corner of her eye. The one on the arm she hadn't twisted. She looked up at him.

"I'm Dak." He looked a little pained from her attack, but excitement was much more prominent in his sharp features. She imagined that he was thinking of all the possibilities of calling in a favor from a Jedi. He would figure out soon enough that mind-tricking his employers or reading minds during Sabacc was not really an option with her...

Stars, she was tired. She was staring. Shaking the hand, she nodded. "Zimi Tabier, Jedi Knight. You didn't give a last name."

Dak's jaded appearance returned at the question and he just gestured to the door. "I didn't." He confirmed with a hint of cynicism. "All our cabins are taken up. You'll stay on the control deck."

* * *

The ship was large, but not so large that it needed a lift to get between levels. Instead, a steep stair case brought Zimi and Dak up to the control deck. The staircase led to a narrow corridor that led off to the left and the right. The right way led to the cockpit, if the signs were to be believed, and the left led to the pilot and co-pilot quarters.

It hadn't occurred to Zimi that Dak wasn't piloting during their conversation. While he was attending to her and his smuggling stash, his co-pilot, a human woman that went by the name of Dune, had been handling everything. Zimi met briefly her when she glided past the stairwell, but she looked the same as Dak. Jaded and severe. Did all pilots look like that?

Zimi wasn't quite sure where to go and was following Dak mindlessly. When he came to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs, she ran into him and he turned around to look down at her.

"I thought Jedi had superhuman reflexes." He said, something akin to amusement in his tone. "I was going to tell you to stay in the cockpit so we could keep an eye on you, but I don't think you'll be going anywhere. I don't sleep in the captain's room, so go there. For the love of space gods, though, take a turn in the 'fresher." He wrinkled his nose and at that moment, Zimi became acutely aware of her own unpleasant odor.

He led her to the door of the captain's room and it slid open. Upon being herded inside, the fact that she might be a prisoner dawned on Zimi. It didn't quite affect her enough to do anything about it, though. She turned to look back at Dak, unsure of where she stood with him. First he was angry, then he was caring, and then all business, and then caring again. Either he was a damn good actor, or he had a softer side somewhere. Zimi liked to believe that she wasn't naive enough think it was the 'softer side' option, but, hey, it didn't hurt to give the benefit of the doubt.

No, no, that was wrong. It did hurt. It hurt like a blaster burn.

"Thank you." She said. "For saving me. I didn't tell you."

Dak shrugged and turned on the lights before pointing to the bathroom door. "There's the bathroom, the bed, and a Holonet terminal. Go crazy. We'll be coming out of hyperspace in five hours."

With a winsome smile that Zimi found more taunting than charming, he closed the door and she was finally left alone. Unsure of what to do first, she stood motionless in the middle of the room. It was filled with the constant hum of the ship's engine. The light over head was harsh and white, and the main color of the room was a dull gray-blue.

Ingrained routine took over for her tired brain. She stripped down, folded her clothes, cleaned her body, her hair, brushed her teeth with a toothbrush she found next to the sink, and then put her moderately clean clothes back on. The bed was made up so tightly that Zimi knew it had not been used in a long time, but that didn't matter. She only had to lay down on top of the covers to lose consciousness.


	5. 004

Hey! I want to say thanks for the reviews so far. I'm open to concrit, so don't hesitate to point it out if something's wrong. :) Thanks for reading this far!

* * *

**4**

Long gone glory was the only descriptor that Zimi could muster. Taris had it in spades. From afar, the curved spires of the skyline looked grand, but up close, age was telling on them. Well, 'telling' was a bit of an understatement. The ecumenopolis of Taris was _stained_ with age, decay, and destruction.

Zimi stood stiffly near the edge of a space port landing pad, in the shade of the passenger transport. She regretted dropping off to sleep with her belt still on. Her saber hilt had gotten under her while she slept and there was an imprint of it on the small of her back. The ache of her muscles, combined with the pain in her arm didn't put her in a very accepting mood. People who approached her thinking she was a stewardess immediately turned on their heels when they saw her face. Seeing this, she mastered herself, though she appreciated not having to speak to anyone, and assumed a more neutral demeanor. However, the damage was done and nobody approached her again.

There was a long line of travelers that wound its way from the ship ramp, down the platform, and into the space port. For a while, she tried not to listen in on what the travelers were saying, occupying herself with looking into the sheer drop over the edge of the landing pad, but customs made the line slow and some beings were loud talkers. An Ithorian was trumpeting softly to his companion, a human male. Zimi wasn't terribly skilled with languages, but the human was speaking Basic, his lack of two mouths making it difficult to speak in the Ithorian's native tongue.

"No, I couldn't get into the Holonet. Something was wrong with the feed in my cabin..." The Ithorian hooted something and Zimi sensed deep shock coming from the man. "A galactic empire?" He sputtered.

Those three words seemed to have the effect of a stone dropped into a pool of water as more and more beings shared what they knew. Suddenly, the news was rippling throughout the crowd and the alarm Zimi felt from nearly all the life forms was overwhelming.

She took a deep breath and then tried to block the emotions out. She had to do that in order to deal with her own shock and find out just how much had happened since she left Jabiim. It wasn't hard to put it together from the murmuring of the crowd: The galaxy was no longer a republic. It was an empire. Led by Chancellor Palpatine. Emperor Palpatine.

Turning to look at the crowd, Zimi glimpsed Dak shouldering his way down the ramp. Dune followed close behind him, and both pilots jumped off the side of the ramp to land in the shade with Zimi.

Zimi found the relationship between Dak and herself very awkward. Ever since they'd landed, she'd been trying to figure out where she stood with him, but it seemed like he couldn't decide between debtor, hostage, or partner-in-crime. They all had polarized degrees of familiarity that Dak jumped between in a baffling way. The last had come about when he had her helping unpack the cases from the smuggling compartment and then taking inventory.

Dune, on the other hand, let Zimi know exactly where she stood. She was a burden until she paid off her debt.

"Long live the Emperor." Dak said with a wry smile. "Stop being so deadpan, Zimi, it's unnerving. We're living in an Empire now. Be happy."

At this particular moment, Zimi decided he was going with partner-in-crime; the use of first names caught her off guard, along with Dak's criticism of her face. She just shifted her stance and kept her face blank. "I don't think I want to be happy about that."

"The news is that the Jedi tried to assassinate him. And that Jedi are not to be trusted." Dune put in. She regarded Zimi with her amber eyes, before subtly resting a hand on the blaster at her thigh.

Zimi ignored the subtle threat, but was shocked out of her impassiveness. "Assassinate him?" Zimi said, swallowing and trying not to sound as stunned as she was. The news was striking, yet something was off about it. There was no way the Council would allow it. Would they? "So, this is the Jedi rebellion everyone is talking about."

Dune nodded and took her hand off the blaster. "They also say Jedi Temple is gone and the war is over. The Sep leaders were assassinated too... It's too bad, really."

The next news got a stronger reaction. Zimi's head started to spin and she had put a hand against the side of the ship to steady herself.

"Oh, now you've got some emotion out of her." She heard Dak chuckle. "That's the first time I've ever seen her make a real face. Except, when I dragged her out of the compartment, she was all blue and scrunched up."

Zimi's eyes flicked up to meet Dak's and she bared her teeth. Her surprise turned to disdain. Of course he wouldn't understand this. He didn't have friends at the Temple. He didn't spend his childhood there either. She wouldn't fault him for that. Still, his reaction brought an acidic reply to mind. Before she could open her mouth, though, Dune touched the taller pilot on the elbow and nodded to the landing pad's walkway. "There's our client. I'll go talk to him."

The dark-skinned female pushed a braid of black hair over her shoulder and strode away. When she left, Dak stepped closer to Zimi. He regarded her for a few seconds, before running a hand through his short brown hair. Some emotion went through him that Zimi couldn't quite pin down. "I went through the inventory. We're set to lose a lot of money because of you. I'm not..." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Listen, don't take it personally, but business is business and if I gotta turn you in for your bounty, I will."

This galaxy was a real shithole.

Zimi looked up to meet his eyes and felt contempt toward him. She gritted her teeth and told herself that sharp words would not help. "Here's to hoping I can pay you back, then." She said, a false cheer coming into her voice.

Dak narrowed his eyes, looking unsatisfied, but before he could respond, Dune was leading the client over to where they stood. The big dark-skinned man didn't look like a salesman. He was about as tall as Dak and had a forbidding look about him. If Zimi didn't know just how she could twist his arm to make him squeal like a baby, she would've been intimidated. His bright eyes took in Zimi's appearance, a little slower than she liked. She had crossed her arms over her chest and given him a cold stare, before realizing that he was sizing her up. This man knew a soldier when he saw one.

"You've a bodyguard, Dak?" He asked, turning away from Zimi and looking at his smuggler, his eyebrows raised in an interested air.

Dak paused a moment and then nodded. "Yeah. I'm feeling like things are set to become a little more hostile, what with us no longer being a republic."

The man chuckled. "You need to tell me where you find such pretty ones." Okay, so he wasn't just sizing her up. Zimi forced herself to keep her face impassive.

Dak only grinned before Dune cut in. "He's clean, Dak. Zimi and I'll get the goods."

The client held up a big hand. "No, no, I've got people coming. Don't worry about it."

At that moment, a group of burly humans with a hovering cart came down the platform. As the client, Thic Gager, explained to them, non-humans needed a permit to travel about the Uppercity, and that caused a lot of trouble when it came to finding help. That was a pretty well known fact about Taris, but it didn't seem that the humans were any less suspicious than the non-humans. Dak followed the men to oversee their loading of the cases and Zimi heard him barking a few times for them to put a bottle of alcohol or a piece of left over luggage back.

Meanwhile, Dune pulled Zimi aside, out of earshot of Thic.

"Dak's told me you owe a favor for damaging our goods." She said. "And that means you'll be traveling with us, unless we decide to turn you over. When we have a moment, you're gonna be showing us what you can do. I don't wanna be babysitting you."

It was a fair request. Or order. Zimi nodded, her motions sharp. "You won't be disappointed." She knew she could say that with confidence.

Dune reached up to scratch her chin with one long finger. "I hope I won't be. I hear Jedi are pretty formidable, even if they're dressed a cubicle worker."

Dismayed, Zimi looked down at her clothes, forgetting for a moment her dark mood. "I'll be getting better clothes when I have a chance. These were a loan."

The other woman fell silent and looked over at the men hauling the cases onto the hover cart. Not looking at Zimi, she continued the conversation, but on a different thread. "So, why were you hiding in the smuggle bin? What's the story behind that?"

Zimi had been busying herself with making her clothing look less clerical and kept at it to ponder how to answer. "I was on the run." She said.

Dune nodded knowingly. "Ah. From those commandos who were searching the ship. Yeah, I guessed that. What's that about? Aren't you on the same side?"

The Jedi pressed her lips together, Dune's words brushing fresh wounds. "Yeah. _I_ thought so. They didn't." The anger that had recently become too familiar curled up around her throat, making her savagely pull her belt too tight. It pinched her stomach and she let go and looked up at Dune, her anger still simmering, but subdued from the pain.

Dune was watching her now. "Betrayal. Hey, it happens." Oh yeah, that was rich coming from a woman who would probably do the same thing. "I can see revenge in your future."

"That's..." She paused to think it over. If she wanted to, she could really made the commandos know how she felt. She could make Tinner know how bad it had hurt when he'd turned around and pulled that trigger... Her eyes gazed sightlessly at the ground as she contemplated it before she came to herself. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "Revenge is not the Jedi way."

Dune gave a disappointed grunt and then turned away. "Yeah, the Jedi way sounds like bullshit."

A few minutes later, Dak came out of the ship and Thic waved him over. Dune went to join the two men and Zimi followed.

"I'll give you about a third for the damaged goods, Dak." Thic said. "The disruptors can be repaired. I'm surprised at you, though. You're usually so careful."

Dak gave him a reserved smile as he hopped off the side of the ramp, but Zimi sensed the frustration he didn't show. "Unforeseen circumstances. I was boarded."

Thic's thick eyebrows went up in understanding and he nodded. "Well, my sympathies." That was all Thic would offer and Dak didn't look like he was expecting anything else. "I've got a personal job for you. You're heading to Coruscant?"

"After a few dozen stop overs." Dak said, unenthusiastically. "What is it?"

"Don't you need the money?" Thic chided. "I'll pay you half now and transfer the rest of the credits when I get a call from my friend. Just one case. It's got a few things for my friend in it. I don't want it opened like..." He picked up another black case and held it up, his eyes flicking between Dak, Dune, and Zimi. "Some of these were."

"A third for them is good." Dak said quickly, holding out his hand. "The rest of the undamaged ones are full price."

Thic gave Dak's hand a good shake and nodded his agreement. Thic's men were pulling the hover cart down out of the ship now. Thic called to one of them and he waved his acknowledgement before turning and trotting down the walkway to the spaceport. About ten minutes later, he returned, rolling a black case behind him.

"Thanks so much." Thic said, taking it from him and handing it off to Dak. "Five thousand."

Dak let out a laugh that Zimi found oddly charming. In a funny but, nefarious sort've way. "It's obviously sensitive material. Ten."

"Fifty-five hundred."

"Nine."

"I can find someone else, Dak. Six."

"Eight."

"I'll find someone el-"

"Sixty-seven hundred. That's as low as I'll go. You always get good service from me, Thic."

There was a pause as Thic considered it, his dark eyes boring into Dak's. "Done." He held out his hand and the two men shook on it. "I've got other goods for you too. The usual."

The exchange seemed rehearsed, even the part when Thic threatened to leave. He took a few steps back with his hands out and his eyebrows up. There was a professional attitude about it that Zimi liked, despite that fact that it didn't involve combat. With her fate up in the air, Zimi realized that smuggling was something she could get into. If she could convince Dak and Dune of her worth, she had herself set for life, even if smuggling didn't promise a very long life. These people dealt in the underworld of the galaxy, and in that underworld world people could disappear. That was what she had to do. Disappear.


End file.
